


never fallen from quite this high

by magnificentbirb



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Confessions, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: San hasn't said a word since they left the restaurant.San is distant, and Wooyoung grows desperate.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 32
Kudos: 281





	never fallen from quite this high

**Author's Note:**

> this was a bit of an exercise for me! i've been working on so many longer wips and big aus that i needed to just sit down and write something small and simple, and this was the result. 
> 
> enjoy the confused, smitten pining~! 
> 
> *
> 
> title from "ocean eyes" by billie eilish

The door to the dorm closes with a quiet click behind them, followed by the soft _beep_ of the lock engaging. Wooyoung stays by the door, his eyes on San’s broad shoulders as San toes off his shoes and slips out of his coat, tossing the coat over the arm of the couch as he pads sock-footed into the living room.

San hasn’t said a word since they left the restaurant.

Wooyoung feels sick, his head spinning, his stomach roiling with anxiety and soju and too much food. He can still feel the places San touched him, seared like brands on his skin, San’s touch as gentle as always—a guiding hand on Wooyoung’s elbow as he led Wooyoung to their manager’s van, soft fingers against Wooyoung’s waist as he herded him into the front door of their dorm—but different, somehow, fleeting, accompanied only by silence rather than the usual soft words and small chuckles.

“Are you mad at me?” Wooyoung says at last, his voice low to keep from waking the other members, but still somehow deafening against the fifteen minutes of silence preceding it. It seems like the only logical explanation, although Wooyoung is having trouble piecing together what happened earlier in the night that would cause San to be angry with him. After all, San is never angry with him. It’s _San_. 

San pauses, his back still turned to Wooyoung.

“I’m just tired, Young-ah,” San says.

The words cut, for some reason, as quiet and simple as they are.

“You sure?” Wooyoung says, because it still doesn’t feel right, something feels off and it’s eating away at Wooyoung’s insides, making his throat thick and his stomach twist.

“Goodnight, Wooyoung.” San’s voice is small, gentle, and yet somehow when he walks down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows, Wooyoung feels a shard of his heart go with him.

*

They have a schedule early the next day.

Wooyoung doesn’t think much of it when San doesn’t greet him in the morning, because if Wooyoung held a grudge against every member who neglected to tell him good morning, he’d never speak to Hongjoong again.

It’s only once they’ve all gathered into their practice room, dressed and made up to look effortlessly casual, that Wooyoung once again senses that something is off. San sticks by Seonghwa’s side while the staff explain to them what they’ll be filming, which isn’t all that unusual, but it’s the way San wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s waist from behind and hooks his chin over Seonghwa’s shoulder all while not meeting Wooyoung’s eye that makes Wooyoung fidget, jealousy curling unwelcome in his gut. Wooyoung can’t help but stare, the staff member’s voice a low drone in the back of his mind, as Seonghwa gently rests his hands on top of San’s at his waist and leans his cheek against San’s hair. They look cozy, soft.

Wooyoung’s back feels cold.

The filming starts, and San is his usual loud and smiley self, making bad jokes and giggling when Hongjoong pretends to be angry, but he sticks to Seonghwa’s side like a limpet all morning, noticeably clingy even for him. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to mind, of course, because Seonghwa never minds being cuddled, but Wooyoung—secretly, bitterly—can’t help but wonder why San is hanging onto Seonghwa and not him.

When the filming is done, the staff and other members start to trickle out of the practice room, but San and Seonghwa hang behind, Seonghwa on his phone, San peering at the screen over his shoulder.

“Wooyoung-ah!” Seonghwa calls, smiling over at Wooyoung. “V-live? Sani and I were just gonna start one.”

Wooyoung perks up, hope fluttering in his stomach as San finally meets Wooyoung’s eye for what feels like the first time all morning.

“Sure!” Wooyoung says. “Lemme just get a drink, I’ll be right back.”

Wooyoung nearly sprints to the kitchen and back, a bottle of water now in hand, and is surprised to find the practice room empty but for Seonghwa and a couple of staff members, hanging out near the mirror across the room. Wooyoung’s stomach sinks.

“Where’s San?” Wooyoung asks, heading over to their usual table, already set up with a phone on a tripod. 

“He said his stomach felt a little off, so he’s gonna sit out of this one,” Seonghwa says.

Wooyoung knows that he droops, knows that Seonghwa sees it, but he can’t help it. He trudges around to the other side of the table and slumps into the chair beside Seonghwa, listlessly cracking open his water bottle and taking a long swig.

“Are you two okay?” Seonghwa asks, his voice low enough that it won’t carry across the room to where their staff are chatting. “You barely spoke to each other this morning.”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung says, his voice a bit thick. He has no idea why San has been avoiding him, why he’s suddenly being denied his best friend. Seonghwa, bless him, doesn’t push it. He squeezes Wooyoung’s knee and gives him a small smile.

“Do you want to sit this out, too?” Seonghwa says. “I can do a solo live, it’s not a problem.”

“No,” Wooyoung says, sitting up in his chair and scooting forward, blinking to clear his stupidly moist eyes. “No, I’ll stay with you. Let’s talk to ATINY.”

Seonghwa pats Wooyoung’s knee, his smile warm. “Okay.”

*

Wooyoung makes steak for dinner that night.

He knows it’s basically cheating, like setting a trap for a rabbit right outside its burrow, but he’s too afraid that if he reaches out to San without any kind of bait, he’ll be immediately rejected.

So instead: steak.

The smell attracts Seonghwa first, who smiles at Wooyoung from the kitchen doorway, hair damp and face newly scrubbed.

“When will it be ready?” Seonghwa asks.

“About a half hour,” Wooyoung says from his position at the sink, where he’s washing mushrooms for one of his side dishes, because San likes mushrooms, right? “Is anyone else home?”

“Hongjoong’s napping, but I think he’ll wake up for steak,” Seonghwa says. “Yunho was on his computer, Mingi’s watching TV, and San is in the shower. Yeosang and Jongho had lessons tonight, I think. I haven’t seen them around for a bit.”

Wooyoung nods, trying not to seem too overeager as he asks, “How long ago did Sani hop in the shower?”

Seonghwa is quiet for a moment, and Wooyoung knows that he’s being obvious, knows that Seonghwa is watching him in that Concerned Hyung™ way he has, but Wooyoung refuses to look up from the sink to confirm his suspicions. He feels vulnerable enough already.

“About five minutes ago,” Seonghwa says.

“Perfect,” Wooyoung says, because that means San should step out of the bathroom clean and hungry to find the smell of steak wafting down the hallway, an automatic victory when trapping your Choi San.

“Are you gonna talk it out?” Seonghwa asks.

Wooyoung freezes, his hands still under the running water, growing slowly colder.

“I don’t know what there is to talk out,” Wooyoung admits quietly. “But… yeah. I want to. I don’t…” He hunches his shoulders. “I don’t like him being mad at me.”

“Sani doesn’t get mad without a reason,” Seonghwa says, “but he’s also… San. Just ask him what’s up. I’m sure he’ll be willing to talk about it.”

“I know,” Wooyoung says. “Thanks, hyung.”

“I’ll be back later for steak,” Seonghwa says, his voice deliberately lighter, and Wooyoung smiles at him over his shoulder.

*

San skips dinner.

Wooyoung stares at the remaining pieces of steak, left behind by the other members. He knows he should pack it up as leftovers, should cut his losses and clean the kitchen and head to bed to mope his way to sleep after a lousy day and see if things feel more normal in the morning.

Instead, Wooyoung finds himself staring down the dark hallway towards San’s room, his heart twisting. With a huff, nerves singing, he tromps down the hallway until he’s outside the closed door to Yunho and San’s room. He sees a dim glow coming from beneath the door, hears the clack of computer keys as one or both of them play a game. Wooyoung takes a deep, shaky breath, and then knocks on the door.

“San-ah?” he calls.

The keyboard clacking stops, and a moment later the door is tugged open, revealing Yunho all bundled up in a gray hoodie. 

“Hey,” Yunho says, and then steps back, revealing San sitting at his own computer, his hair damp beneath the hood of an overlarge black sweatshirt. San fixes Yunho with a Look, and then finally turns to Wooyoung, his face carefully devoid of emotion, and somehow, that hurts more than a skipped meal and an escaped V-live and a lack of cuddles combined.

“What’s up, Wooyoung?” San says, and Wooyoung feels something in his chest finally crack.

Wooyoung reaches out, grasps San’s wrist, and yanks him out of his chair.

“I’m borrowing San,” Wooyoung calls over his shoulder at Yunho’s startled face, and then leads a quietly protesting San down the hallway to his own room, dark and empty, Jongho and Yeosang presumably both still at the company. Wooyoung slams the door closed behind them and flicks on the light and then… stops, suddenly terribly aware of the confrontation he’s about to have.

San stands in the middle of the room, his arms crossed, a crease between his brows. Wooyoung wants nothing more than to squish San’s cheeks, to plant a kiss right on that furrow in his brow and make him laugh, like he always does, and it’s only when Wooyoung realizes that he hasn’t heard San’s laugh in a full day that he finally finds the courage to speak.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Wooyoung asks, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

San’s mouth drops open, and then he lets out a small sigh, the corners of his mouth turning down as he looks away from Wooyoung.

“I wasn’t planning to avoid you forever,” San mutters.

The lack of denial pierces Wooyoung like a blade, shockingly painful. He grits his teeth, blinking back the threat of tears.

“Why were you avoiding me at all?” Wooyoung asks. “Did I do something to upset you? Are you—you’re mad at me, aren’t you? Why? What did I do?”

San finally looks at him, his own eyes suspiciously bright. “Wooyoung-ah,” he says, almost disappointed, as though he expects Wooyoung to already know what he did, and that makes Wooyoung want to cry even more.

“San-ah,” he says, “please, I don’t—I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry, okay? Can you just—can you at least tell me why you’re mad? If you tell me, I can fix it, right? I can—” 

“I’m not mad, Young-ah,” San says, his soft voice cutting through Wooyoung’s panicked rambling. 

Wooyoung blinks at him. “But… but you’ve been avoiding me all day. You’ve barely looked at me, you keep running away, you skipped _dinner_ , so why—?” 

“You don’t remember, do you?” San’s voice is quiet, his shoulders hunched.

Wooyoung’s skin prickles. “Remember what?”

“Last night,” San says. “We got dinner, and you drank, and…” San’s fingers curl into the thick material of his sweatshirt, knuckles pale. “At the end of the night, I put my arm around you, and you… shoved me away.” San squeezes his eyes shut. “Pretty firmly.”

Wooyoung stares at San, his heart sinking to his knees. He remembers now, a little, hazily. He remembers feeling warm, and happy, and full, and drunk, and—a bit deeper down, a bit scarier, where his mind is hesitant to go even now—just… utterly in love with the man sitting beside him. And as happy as he felt to realize that, as giddy as he was when San put an arm around him and laughed into the crook of his neck, soft hair tickling Wooyoung’s cheek, Wooyoung remembers feeling terrified of the helpless way his heart swelled, and—and— 

Pushing San away. 

“Oh,” Wooyoung says, choked. “Oh, god. San-ah, I didn’t—that wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” San says, and Wooyoung wants to sob. “I figured we might hit a limit eventually, so I just… I was trying to give you some space, and get some space for myself, so I could stop—” San breaks off, shakes his head. “I just figured we could use some space, that’s all. It’s fine. I’m not angry.”

“No,” Wooyoung says, perhaps a bit harsher than he meant to, judging by the way San’s shoulders jump. “No, it’s not fine, it’s—I’m so sorry, San-ah, I didn’t mean to push you away like that, I was just—oh god.” Wooyoung buries his face in his hands, realizing that in order to fix this, he’s going to have to admit something he’s barely admitted to himself, which is _terrifying_ , but the more he thinks about it—the more he thinks about San potentially pulling away from him, giving him space he doesn’t _want_ , growing more distant, becoming less his tactile, comfortable, warm and loving _San_ —the more Wooyoung knows it’s the right thing to do.

“San-ah,” Wooyoung says, his voice partly muffled by his own hands. He takes in a shuddery breath, and then looks up at San, meeting wide, dark eyes, partly obscured by damp hair. San looks startled, and wary, and lovely, and that alone makes Wooyoung continue. “I didn’t push you away last night because I didn’t want you near me. Okay? I pushed you away because… I was scared of how much I _do_ want you near me. All the time.” Wooyoung takes a small step forward, closing the distance between them. Feeling bold, his heart pounding in his throat, he takes San’s hands in his own, running his thumbs over San’s knuckles. “San-ah,” he says, his voice trembling, “I think… I think I love you?”

They’re standing so close that Wooyoung can hear the hushed breath of surprise San takes in, can see the way San’s eyes grow watery, the way his bottom lip starts to jut out.

“You’re—you what?” San says, barely audible.

“I love you,” Wooyoung says again, and it’s easier this time, less like a step off a cliff and more like falling into a warm, familiar embrace. “And last night… I was drunk, and dumb, and scared of how much I loved you, and afraid that you might not feel the same way, and when you put your arm around me like that, I just—I panicked.” 

“You’d better not be joking right now, Jung Wooyoung,” San says. “This isn’t funny—”

“I’m not joking, I promise.” Wooyoung squeezes San’s hands, then steps forward and, tentatively, still a bit afraid of being pushed away, leans forward to rest his forehead against San’s, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I never meant to make you feel like I don’t—like I don’t _want_ you, because I just—I want you all the time, San-ah, I was just—I’m so sorry.” 

San is quiet. He slips his hands out of Wooyoung’s, and for a horrified moment Wooyoung is afraid that San is going to pull away, but then warm hands cup Wooyoung’s cheeks, and San sweeps his thumbs over Wooyoung’s skin, fleeting and tender.

“Wooyoung-ah,” San whispers, his breath warm against Wooyoung’s lips. “I think… I think I love you, too.” He pauses. “I think I have for a while now.”

Wooyoung drags in a shaky breath, his heart skipping. He feels tingly, sensitive. He catches San by the hips, pulls him closer.

“I know this is fast, but I just—can I try kissing you?” Wooyoung asks, hushed, and they’re so close now that Wooyoung can feel San’s smile against his lips. “This just feels like a good time to do it, and I—I want to.”

“Yes,” San says, and Wooyoung kisses him, no more hesitation, only soft lips pressed to his and San’s arms wrapping around his neck and sweet, warm relief as Wooyoung realizes at last that he hasn’t actually lost San, that instead he’s gained so much more.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung says once they pull apart, Wooyoung breathing a bit heavier, his cheeks hot. “I was so scared you’d be mad at me forever, this was the absolute worst day.”

“ _You_ were scared?” San pinches the back of Wooyoung’s neck, just hard enough to make Wooyoung hiss. “Wooyoung, I thought you were disgusted by me. Today absolutely sucked.”

“No more avoiding each other, agreed?” Wooyoung says, leaning in to nuzzle at San’s neck, pressing a small kiss to the freckles on his skin, warm and clean from his recent shower. “We should just. Talk.” He squeezes San’s waist. “And also do this.”

“Agreed,” San says. He slides a hand into Wooyoung’s hair, fingers curling against Wooyoung’s scalp. “And I’m sorry if this kinda ruins the mood, but uh… is there still steak left? I’m starving.”

Wooyoung smiles against San’s neck.

“For you, always,” Wooyoung says. He pulls away, beaming at San, who looks flushed and shy and pleased. Wooyoung leans in and pecks San on the lips again, because he _can_ , and then takes San’s hand, linking their fingers together, and leads him out the door.

*

**Author's Note:**

> please consider leaving a comment and some kudos, if you enjoyed!
> 
> come yodel at me on twitter, if you like~ ♡
> 
> [main account](https://twitter.com/aintitnifty) | [writing account](https://twitter.com/magnificentbirb)


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